Unhinged
by Thorne Scratch
Summary: With the help of his friends, Cloud attempts to avoid saving the world from a terrible fate. Yaoi and silliness warning.
1. Default Chapter

Summary: An e-mail volley that went wrong

Summary: An e-mail volley that went wrong. Spawned out of boredom. I can't even use the excuse "It Was Late And I Was Tired" on this.

Warnings: AU and absolutely no explanations as to why the storyline's so screwed up. No real plot. OOC actions taking place right, left, and center. Vast innuendo and flat-out portrayal of yaoi, although I'm wondering as to why I need to warn about yaoi when no one ever warns me when they're going to do horribly-written het.

Notes: The above was not to imply that het is bad, but I _know_ someone's gonna take it that way. And Square owns the characters and most likely a good chunk of the world.

Further notes: Catt, this was entirely, undeniably, and completely _your_ fault. This one's for you.

***

And now, a reading from the book of Square, chapter 1, verse 7…

__

And having rested from the exhausting work of creating things, the Lord then set about to invent the world's oldest profession:

Management.

He looked upon the world and said, "I am the Lord. For me to rule my own creation myself would be a waste of my infinitely unfathomable powers. So let there be an angel to manage the affairs of this world. Let his powers be nearly equal to my own, and let his name be... Sephiroth the Archangel."

And so it was. And the Lord looked and it was good.

Then, the Lord did frown and scratch his head. "Indeed, I am the Lord. And indeed this new angel is one of my most aesthetically pleasing creations. But to only have one creation such as this is merely the smallest part of my range of powers. I will give him a counterpart to aid him in the grimness of dealing with ruling. So let there be a friend to the archangel and let his name be Zackary."

Then, the Lord did exert his powers of creation and once again, there was a creation. With a Celestial finger-flick, the Lord dropped them both down to the Planet to do His will. And the Lord looked and it was good.

A few Celestial seconds ticked by.

The Lord drummed His fingers and hummed a little.

A Celestial fly gave a Celestial buzz.

In the divine nature of His own being, there was a shift in the Lord. For, to only behold one's own glory for all eternity is, frankly, boring. The Lord did have the amusement of beholding the perfection of his created world and the relief of not having to manage it. But the Lord did know that conflict is too often the sole source of amusement for the perfectly-inclined. So, the Lord set about creating the second oldest profession:

Villainy.

The fearful material took shape under his hands, writhing and twisting in spasms of darkness and lunacy. He looked upon the creation. And the Lord did grin and the angels did sigh and the villainy blinked and stretched its villainous hands to the world in eager anticipation. 

So, the Lord did sayeth, "This villainy pleases me, because it assures me that there will always be an Primary Eternal Struggle between good and evil. Good will eventually win, in the end-times, but it will have to overcome evil. And I will make sure this happens by making my final creation, the force of Good Heroism of such beauty and ability and strength, that none shall defeat it.

And because my previous creations seem to be suffering of boredom on the Planet, I will personally add something to this creation in order to solve their problem. And let my creation of Heroism be named Cloud, for clouds are all I see in heaven. I will leave the Villainy unnamed, for that will be his undoing by the hands of Cloud."

And so it came to pass that the Lord created the first Hero and at the same time, created the concept of the sex drive and the mechanics therein, as well as the Second Eternal Struggle of "Who's on Top?"

Coming back for an encore and not yet ready to call it for the day, the Lord did create and introduce the yaoi threesome.

And the Lord looked upon what he had wrought. 

And it was good.

***

"Between now and our next appointment, I would like for you to consider all of the different ways that you can kill bunny rabbits."

"All right... but are you sure that once they're dead they can't come back to haunt me?"

"Yes. Don't worry: a dead bunny is a gone bunny."

"Thank you so much, Cloud. You will never know how much you've helped me."

Cloud smiled at the man, opened the door, and let him and another couple of men out. He watched him walk down the hallway and out the entrance to the clinic. Carefully, Cloud closed the door and walked back to his seat. He started to sit down, but stopped. He walked over and closed the window. Then he sat down.

He then proceeded to laugh as hard as he could for the next ten minutes until he inhaled the wrong way and started to choke and turn red. It was times like this that he actually enjoyed his job. It validated the basic philosophy that Sephiroth had made up a long time ago, that one's employment should match one's entertainment, hence Cloud's job of giving psychiatric help to people even more whacked-out than he was.

Then he heard what seemed like a crowd gathering outside his door and changed his mind.

"Oh God... not Vincent again!" he groaned, but he walked over to the door and opened it anyway.

He scanned each person as he walked through the door. Finally, he walked up to one and said, "So, Vincent, how are you?"

"Cloud, why is it that you never seem to talk directly to me?"

Cloud cursed silently to himself. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Please, sit down."

Vincent sat down. One of the figures who had accompanied him inside, dressed in black and red, walked up to him and whispered in his ear, "Look outside Vincent... do you see a coffin? I see a coffin. If you jump out that window, you might make it to the coffin..."

"Look, Vincent, the window has a screen in it that is impenetrable. If you attempt to jump through it you're only going to hurt yourself and get plastered on the sidewalk." 

Cloud rethought that. "Well, okay, maybe you can fly, but I've never seen you do that for long periods of time."

Vincent looked at Cloud in shock, which is to say, he looked at Cloud and blinked twice instead of his customary once. "…"

Cloud stared out the window, absently wondering how anyone could mistake a common mailbox for a coffin.

Vincent tried again. "…"

Cloud drummed his fingers a little and started humming the orchestral version of "One Winged Angel."

Vincent finally transformed in irritation, spreading Chaos' wings and shooting five feet straight up in the air. The rush of air swept around the room and knocked the extensive sword collection off the wall in a clattering ring, hung where ordinarily would hang documents assuring the office's patients that their psychologist was, in fact, more sane than they were.

The fact that Cloud's walls did not contain such documents was left to the patients' imaginations.

"…!!?!"

Cloud turned around at the sound of objects falling off the wall and jumped apologetically. "Sorry, Vincent. I can't hear you when you only talk in punctuation marks, remember?"

Vincent transformed back, eyes glowing red and hot. He went about the tiresome task of actually putting his thoughts into words. "…How did you know what I was thinking, Cloud?"

Cloud smiled helplessly and shrugged.

"Kill him, Vincent! He cannot help you," said another blue-suited figure with short black hair and a gun on his hip.

Vincent started to look at Cloud violently.

Cloud picked up a pencil. "C'mon, Vincent. Tell me what's on your mind so we cab both go home. Other than wanting to kill me, you know."

This time Vincent did not allow any emotion to be betrayed on his face. Instead, he neatly composed himself and started telling Cloud all of his problems, most of which involved guilt and vast feelings of inadequacy. (Cloud could not reveal most of these problems to the author of this story because he feared it would violate the doctor-insane patient relationship.)

Eventually the appointment was done and Cloud managed to shepherd everyone out of the room. Vincent continued to give him funny looks as Cloud made faces at a man wearing nothing but a claw and a few artistically placed black ribbons.

Finally, they were all outside and Vincent politely shook hands with Cloud, reminded him of their appointment next week and asked after Cloud's roommates… all without saying a word. He then started to make his way determinedly after a white-lab-coated, nervous looking woman.

Cloud sighed. His looks, his claw, his tragic past always infatuated everyone who knew Vincent but many were deterred by the fact Vincent would only speak in a mixture of silences, short gestures, and deadpan expressions. It kept them from realizing that rather than an unstable, dangerously guilt-ridden vampire, he was an unstable, dangerously guilt-ridden vampire who also was an ex-Turk capable of monster transformations and didn't look kindly on those who were unfamiliar with his code of communication.

Cloud knew differently about Vincent. He knew differently about a great many things, perhaps due to his unique ability to see inside of people's minds--an ability that had gotten him a good deal of gil in his make-shift career as an unlicensed, illegal psychologist. (He cringed at being called a "shrink", but that was probably due to an inferiority complex at being short.) After all, one could not be a mercenary forever.

He locked the doors of the office and walked home. It was a pleasant evening, and the street seemed to pleasantly void of people and their walking-talking problems.

Almost empty, that is.

"Hey, little kid. Ever played with fire materia before? Betcha didn't know how fun it is…"

Cloud groaned. Why did he have to _care_? He should just walk away.

"Why don't you try lighting that piece of paper on fire, little kid?"

I'm walking away, Cloud thought to himself. This isn't my problem, so I shouldn't waste my time with it.

"Why don't you see if that apartment complex burns too, little kid?"

Cloud stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, walked over to the child and snatched the materia out of her hand. After pocketing it, he turned to face the man.

"I would really prefer that you not corrupt the minds of little children. Midgar has gone through a plate collapse, a giant monster attack, nearly getting smacked by a meteor and rocked by the Lifestream. We don't need any fires," Cloud spoke assertively.

"Who are you?"

He counted to ten and thought fixedly about how he would be within home in two blocks. "I'm Cloud."

"Cloud? A name? Interesting. Who is/are your parent(s)?"

"None of your business."

"I suppose that makes sense, but who said that names were logical, anyway? Speaking of which, why should a name care what this girl does? It's not as if you're going to gain anything."

When one lives with a slightly disgruntled, over-sexed, returned-from-the-dead megalomaniac and an inexplicably resurrected, also over-sexed first class SOLDIER, one learns not to mince logic and to get to the point as quickly as possible. Cloud decided that he had spoken to Fire long enough. He took the materia from the girl and put them in his pockets. Fire, holding a look of shock on his face, slowly faded away.

Cloud stared directly into the little girl's face. "Never let me see you playing around with materia again. They're dangerous and you're too young."

But the little girl didn't seem to be listening. "Who... who was that you were talking to?"

"No one. No one at all," Cloud muttered, walking away.

***

A man walked into a room. He placed his papers on a desk.

The woman at the desk looked through the papers, smiled, and looked up at him. "I must say I am impressed with your apparent desire to join our little institution," she said. "But before you can become a full-fledged member, you must answer a few questions for me:

First, how many letters are in your first name?"

"Three."

"What is the first letter? Please don't be nervous."

"C."

"Good... good... now tell me the second letter."

"I."

The woman smiled. "Excellent! I knew that you were promising material. Please accept my apologies, but I must now ask you this last question as a matter of routine. I am sure you will answer it correctly.

Please state the third letter of your first name."

The man hesitated, but eventually answered: "B."

The woman's smile froze. "Did you just say, 'B'?" she asked.

The man nodded nervously.

"Well then," continued the woman, "I'm afraid that you are not yet ready to join us, Mr. Cib, but I am sure that you will be pleased to know that we offer education and enlightenment programs that will correct your little... abnormality." Two men in black suits walked up to the client, grabbed him, and walked out of the room via a hidden door.

The woman smiled. "Next?" she said, as a new man walked into the room and put his papers on the desk.

***

Hojo was a man who bore a striking resemblance to Cloud. Like Cloud, he was very good as seeing the insides of people. He just used slightly more invasive means on a more regular basis.

The man had an interesting perspective on life. He believed that there were some sort of external forces afoot in the world and that everything these forces made was good. Therefore, reasoned Hojo, since the forces specifically chose to make man mortal, death and biological experimentation must be a good thing. By bringing this service to others, Hojo fancied himself a servant of these forces.

Put bluntly, Hojo was a professional killer—a "doctor", in theory, although Hojo himself never liked the term. After all, it implied that one was only willing to experiment and kill for money and various financial grants, and to Hojo torture was also an exciting past-time.

***

"Get out of the fucking bathroom!" 

Inside the shared apartment, Zack charged by, clad only in a towel and banged on the bathroom door. Turning the key in the lock and hanging up his jacket, Cloud wished for the thousandth time that they had managed to find an apartment that had more than one shower. At least it explained where Sephiroth was; he always felt better when he could keep tabs on both his roommates and lovers, making himself less susceptible to being handcuffed to the bedposts and taken advantage of in several pleasurable but always embarrassing ways.

He coughed a little. "Hi Zack."

Zack turned. "Hey Cloud. Look, hold this for me a second, please?" 

He handed Cloud a loofah sponge, gave him a hurried peck on the forehead, and started digging through the closet.

Behind the door, the noise of the shower went on undeterred.

As Zack rummaged angrily for his Buster sword. Cloud massaged a crick in his neck and watched with the mildly bored eyes of someone who has seen the same scene unfold many, many times. He wondered whose turn it was to cook that night; and whether it was his; and if so, if he would be able to persuade them to just send out for KFC instead. Fried chocobo wasn't his favorite but it would beat actually having to cook. He just wished they didn't have to pick it up all the way in Kalm…

The shower turned off.

Zack, having located his sword buried in the chaos of the closet turned on his heel and swung the blade at the door. Sephiroth, who opened the door dripping wet and stark naked, ducked his head and nimbly caught the piece of door-lintel that was chopped off. He handed it to Zack who was grabbing for his towel that had slipped down a good ways during the swing. He threw it to Cloud who, not up to doing any home repairs at the moment, dumped it on the floor behind him. 

He waved. "Hi Seph."

"Oh, so there you are. When did you get home?"

"Just now." He squirmed out of the drippingly wet embrace. "Jeez, get a towel.'

Zack pushed by, grumbling. "'Bout time you got out." He snatched his sponge from Cloud.

Sephiroth, not knowing or perhaps just not caring about the fact he was leaving a water trail down the hallway much in the matter of a snail, leisurely meandered to the bedroom. Cloud waited and counted. _One… two… three…_

"GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE NOW!"

__

We have ignition.

Sephiroth stuck his head out the doorway. "Yes?" he inquired in a superficially polite voice.

Zack stomped out of the bathroom kicking out an array of empty bottles, wet towels, crumpled leather clothing, and a squeaky chocobo bath toy that Cloud had purchased on a whim at the Wallmarket-mart. "Look! This shampoo bottle was full two days ago when I bought it! You're not the only goddamn person in this place with long hair!"

Sephiroth shrugged. "So?"

"So?! I'm out five hundred gil and there's six-foot long silver hairs clogging up the damn trap!"

"My heart bleeds for you. I used up all the hot water, too. Enjoy." Sephiroth closed the door firmly. Cloud put his hands over his ears in anticipation of what he knew was coming. 

"You arrogant, selfish, no-good bastard, just wait until I get finished and then we'll see who's laughing about it…" Trailing off, Zack stepped on the squeaky chocobo bath toy which, in accordance with its nature, squeaked.

Glaring at the toy as though it were personally responsible for all of his misfortunes, Zack picked it up, tossed it at Cloud and snagged Cloud's wrist. "C'mon. Might as well have some company in there if the water's gonna be cold. Be a nice challenge for us."

Cloud, in accordance to his nature, squeaked.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2: The Quadruple W

Warnings: AU and absolutely no explanations as to why the storyline's so screwed up

Warnings: AU and absolutely no explanations as to why the storyline's so screwed up. No real plot. OOC actions taking place right, left, and center. Slight yaoi. Actually, check that, quite a lot of it. Drag shows and thermodynamics references. Too many personal jokes.

Square owns the characters and most likely a good chunk of the world. Lyrics belong to Gackt. 

Notes: Catt, this was entirely, undeniably, and completely _your_ fault. This one's for you.

***

Quick recap:

Cloud can see odd things.

Vincent is strange.

Hojo is sadistic.

Sephiroth takes a shower and irritates Zack.

***

A man was walking down the street in a certain slum. He stopped in front of a run-down church and smiled to himself. It had once been lively and a community gathering point but over time he had gotten bored to death since nobody ever walked in and the flowers inside had gone carnivorous, thanks to a side-effect of Meteor. Hence, he had decided to leave it. He wondered if anyone had been in it lately.

He entered it, and was immediately amazed at how nice it looked. "Hmm… somebody must actually have been in here recently!" he thought to himself with glee. "In fact, maybe they're still here!"

He enthusiastically opened the vestibule door.

Men dressed in black were standing inside. Identical men. Holding extraordinarily nasty-looking guns that had blackened spikes, sighters, glowing buttons and other protuberances literally dripping off that made it quite clear that anyone on the receiving end of the gun was going to regret ever being born.

One black-clad man spoke. "You are Strife."

The man wasn't sure whether it was a question or a statement. "No, I am not," he responded.

"You lie," another replied.

Well, the man thought to himself, that answers that question.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The head, you fool."

"Umm... I don't know?"

"Do not trifle with us. If we do not receive our quarry, we will be most displeased."

The man began to sweat. "I really have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"You have failed us, Strife. Prepare to die."

"But I'm not Strife! I have no idea who this guy is! NOOOOOOoooooo---" 

*blagh*

***

Strange things tended to happen on Wednesdays at the Seventh Heaven. 

In order to fully appreciate that fact however, it would be necessary to note that at the newly built-up and renovated Seventh Heaven, there were three recognized major activities: drinking, fighting, and drag shows. Other less official traditions included getting smashed and trying to sneak into the top-secret, underground AVALANCHE lair, (which was generally not recommended, as those who tried could and did get caught and bounced out on their asses by Tifa) stealing chocobos and taking joy-rides, throwing things out windows, burning chairs, and having intense and philosophical conversations with the save points. 

Some might ask why all these activities show a strongly destructive slant. Tifa had once entertained the conjecture that it was due to the natural desire of the inebriated in their natural habitat to hasten the process of entropy and the universal trend towards chaos, but she had decided it might also just as well be due to the fact that drunken people like to break things. 

At any rate, one had to consider what the Seventh Heaven was all about. Alcohol, obviously. Drinking in Midgar was actually a different process from drinking anywhere else on the Planet. Due to the fact that Midgar had been pretty much flattened during the dual Diamond Weapon and Meteor attack, there had been a marked upswing in the distribution of grain-alcohol and the equally popular, although slightly more sordid, "meteorshine" productions. The production of meteorshine was generally considered quite whimsical and acceptable in the face of Midgar's urban and destructive spirit, but it this might have been because the people who engage in it had had their abilities to reason destroyed as one of the side-effects of actually drinking the stuff.

So, with plenty of alcohol in hand, the folks of Midgar were ready to tackle any problem, mostly through ignoring them in a drunken stupor. And the Seventh Heaven was more than happy to provide all varieties of these drinks. Knowing this, the next activity was wholly understandable, seeing as alcohol almost invariably comes hand in hand with violence. The fights at the Seventh Heaven ranged from the bills to who got the last drink to who it was that Tifa had smiled at more to stolen materia…

But, there could be no doubt that the true attraction of the Seventh Heaven lay in it its nightly shows. After hearing about Aeris' and Cloud's escapades in Wallmarket, and with her own knowledge of what went on in the Honeybee Inn, Tifa had reached two simple truths: people like to do strange things and they feel a lot better about it if other people are doing it at the same time. Truth Number Two was that everyone who doesn't like doing these things will often pay to see it so they can either satisfy their voyeurism or heckle it. 

Hence, the "Wow! Whoa! …Women or What? " Wednesday night drag show.

It was a slow day, but that in itself wasn't unusual. The bar tended to pick up at night when the show actually started and the beer started flowing and the performers started prancing. For the place to only have less than half a dozen patrons around two in the afternoon was quite average. For Sephiroth, Zack, and Cloud to be the only three in the room at this time was also quite average. It always took them at least the six hours before the first show started to manhandle and threaten Cloud sufficiently to the point where they could force him into the performance dress.

From his place lying down on the bar-top, Cloud yawned and grumbled. "I don't see why _I_ have to do this. I'm the only one who goes out and works in an office each day and brings home an actual _paycheck_. All you two do is go and intimidate people into giving you bribes to get into the Honey Bee Inn." 

From his position spread-eagled on the floor, Zack watched the blades of the fan turn, doing absolutely nothing to dispel the heat in the air. He grinned up at Cloud and shrugged. "_I_ don't do that. _Seph_ does. All I do is act in my naturally charismatic way and people can't fork over the gil fast enough."

Nearby and the only one of them actually sitting on a chair, Sephiroth fanned himself with a drink coaster and occasionally adjusted his clothing. The leather pulled away from his body in slow, wet, suctioning sounds, much in the way a stuck boot sounds when being yanked from the mud. He yawned as well and stretched slowly. "Face it, Cloud, you just don't have the intimidation factor to be a bouncer."

Cloud reached blindly for the dish of complimentary peanuts to throw. "I might if you'd let me," he replied testily, "I have some experience, y'know. I did that body-guard stint, that's not so different." Having found the peanuts, he began to intermittently munch a few and toss them at the other two men. 

Sephiroth batted them away with the coaster absently, never missing a fan-wave. "You also have experience with drag, which neither of us do and the ability to fit into a size four." He smirked. "You wouldn't want to disappoint your fans, would you?"

Zack chimed in. "The waist, the face, the build…" He snickered and drew suggestive curves in the air with both hands.

"The complete _lack_ of breasts or anything else that qualifies someone to be female," Cloud snapped back, lobbing a few of the larger peanuts with vicious intent. He looked back down at a few sheets of paper on which he was trying to plot out the evening's show tune and dance steps and how to accomplish said steps in high heels.

Zack leered, undeterred. "You wanna prove that?"

"The last time I checked," Sephiroth remarked, leaning back in the chair, "the whole point isn't to be female, only to look like one. Otherwise, it's just being a transsexual, you know." 

Cloud went red and then green. "I didn't want to think about that." A short pause later, he mumbled, "It wasn't like I had a _choice_ about it or anything. You didn't tell me Aeris was so... insistent."

Zack grimaced. "Yeah, well. I try not to think about what she would've had _me_ doing if fate hadn't intervened."

"Whatever. So, since we all have some type of job, legal or not, why should I do this?" Cloud retorted.

"Entertainment purposes. For us." 

Since fuming didn't make a lot of noise, silence descended over the group again. The only noise to be heard in the bar was the scribbling of Cloud's pencil as he continued laboring over the evening show and the slow rattle of the ceiling fan as it ground in endless circles, occasionally getting stuck. 

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Whir. Click. Release.

Rattle. Wh--

"Make it STOP, Zack!!"

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

"What 'm _I_ supposed to do? I'm the one lying on the floor! Make Seph fix it, he's taller."

Click.

"Just because the rest of you are height-impaired does not make me a handyman. I'm not getting up."

Release.

"Then I'm not dressing up!" 

Zack blinked in dismay. "Because of a broken ceiling fan?"

"No!" Cloud shouted, and then reconsidered. "Yes! Just… just DO something about it! I can't THINK with that noise going on, much less choreograph a dance number!"

Sephiroth sighed and kicked out at Zack, catching him in the shoulder. "Do it."

Zack got to his feet, grumbling. "Buncha prima donnas, the whole lot of you. You owe me big for this and I mean to collect..." 

***

"Ahh, sweet success… Soon we shall reveal ourselves in full and uncensored glory."

"…"

"What?"

"…I think they have public decency laws against that."

"No, you ninny. I meant that in a matter of days, our plans will be complete and we can go public with them. At last we shall reveal ourselves to the world. At last we shall have our revenge."

"…"

"NOW what?"

"I think that line's already been used and copy-written somewhere else. Is it a good enough line to risk alerting the Crossover Gestapo?"

"Well, is there a BETTER way to say it?"

"How about, 'in the near future, we will unveil our plot to the global community and we will derive great satisfaction there from'?"

"Hnn. It'll do. Make it so."

***

"…WHY, oh WHY can't IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII?"

As Muuki and Big Bro finished their duet, applause and slurred catcalls erupted from the left corner of the bar where all the body-builders, clad in garish leotards, were already three sheets into the wind. 

Cait Sith, acting as announcer for the evening, bounced up and down from his perch on the moogle and shook his megaphone frantically. "Thank you! Let's give a warm round of applause to our performers this evening for a stunningly… _unique_ rendition of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow!" 

Much hooting and cheers and gil waving from the left corner.

"All right, y'all, simmer down. We've got some more performances up before it's open microphone and I'm sure they're all raring to go!"

From the wings, Cloud groaned. "Great, he's in cowboy mode tonight…" He plucked at his outfit and scowled. "And I am definitely _not_ 'raring to go' in this…this _thing._"

Sephiroth followed his gesture with a critical eye. "I like it."

The thing in question--- the long, red, sleeveless, silk Wutaiian dress with a high collar and slits rising all the way to the upper portion of the thigh ---shimmered shamelessly under the shared scrutiny. 

Cloud pulled at the slits. "I'm _cold_. There's not enough fabric to it."

"There's enough to keep things interesting." Zack grinned, swatted his ass, and sent him stumbling onstage, arms pinwheeling as he fought to keep his balance while wearing the high heels. 

Pausing only to scowl back at Zack and Sephiroth and to give one final tug to the slits of the dress, Cloud stalked up to the microphone. "Music," he ground out and obediently, the opening notes of the song began to spill out through the speakers.

As the two of the few males in the room not wearing female garb and as close friends of the performer, Sephiroth and Zack remained backstage to keep an eye on things. The bar was busy and it seemed like the entire room was filled with corsets and hoop skirts and fishnet stockings.

Sephiroth nudged Zack's shoulder. "Look. Over there."

Zack followed his gaze and immediately blanched white-green as he saw Palmer, wrapped in yards and yards of frothing pink chiffon, successfully trying to chat up an aquamarine taffeta-encased Heidigger. 

"Oh… my… God…" Zack turned his head, shut his eyes, still saw the horrific scene and wondered if it was possible to gouge out one's mind's eye. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Palmer giggled coyly and batted his lashes; Heidigger's eyes glazed over in Epic Lust. There was a three-chair radius around them in the bar that had people piled up in every single seat otherwise, necessitated not only for their girth but also on general squick principles. 

Cloud had started singing onstage, although his gritted teeth made the words a bit stilted. "Kimi wa seijitsu na moralist… kirei na yubi de boku o nazoru. Boku wa junsui na terrorist… kimi no omou ga mama ni kakumei ga okiru…"

Sephiroth, deadened to sights like the ongoing flirtation from his years of growing up in Hojo's lab, was calmly watching Cloud. "You're missing the best part of the show, you know. You can hear him sing any time, how often are you going to see him dressed like this?"

Zack kept his eyes shut. "I can't look until they're stopped," he moaned. "You're a masochist, have I told you recently?"

Sephiroth idly glanced over and shrugged. "It's over. Wallace kicked them out."

"Remind me to send him a drink, " Zack mumbled as he cautiously looked up again. "Say, red really does look better with Cloud's complexion…"

Onstage, Cloud was relaxing a little more and getting into the act, mostly attributed to the sake Zack had forced upon him right before getting dressed, claiming it would 'put him into the spirit.' His hips swayed a little, the slits divulging more than usual. "Aishite mo ii kai? Yureru yoru ni arugamama de ii yo… motto…. Fukaku… Kuruoshii kurai ni nareta kuchibiru ga tokeau hodo ni… boku wa…kimi no…Vanilla."

"I can't believe you wanted to pick white," Sephiroth scoffed, "Haven't you realized by now that white only looks good when complemented with large amounts of black?" He took a moment to admire his own clothing.

Zack rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who got sidetracked by the bridal dresses in the wedding department, now was I?" He suddenly glared at Sephiroth suspiciously. "Unless there was something you were planning for him that you've been keeping from me…?"

Smirking, Sephiroth flicked back a strand of hair from his face. "Green has never been a good shade for your feelings, Zackary."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when several things happened simultaneously, the most noticeable being that the lights went out, Cloud's voice cut off abruptly, and people began to scream. 

Tifa was shouting over the pandemonium of shattering glass and falling chairs and clattering of high heels. "People, people, calm down! I'm sure it's just a simple power outage, please remain calm!" Then, after a brief thoughtful pause, she added, "No refunds!"

Suddenly, as quickly as they had gone off, the lights came back on. Automatically everyone glanced to the stage, including Sephiroth and Zack.

The stage was empty and Cloud was gone.

***

Somewhere else, sometime later….

Cloud woke with a pounding headache in a hazy mess of rumpled silk and a nagging suspicion that since he generally wasn't wearing _anything_ when he went to sleep, this was not in the norm.

He blearily opened his eyes and gazed around at the unfamiliar walls. Yep. Definitely not the norm. Unless Sephiroth or Zack had managed to

He sighed. "This is," he vowed earnestly to himself, "the absolute last time I let them mix the drinks without knowing what they put in." 

Trying his best not to actually look at what he was wearing, Cloud stood up and dusted himself off, continuing to talk out loud in order to reassure himself. "S'pose I might as well find a way to get out of here." He turned to look for one of the mysteriously floating red arrows that always seemed to denote the exit paths. He had no idea why they were there or how they appeared but… No use knocking it, amazing the motivation you could find while stranded in the middle of nowhere in a dress that would look most at home on a sleazy street corner in Wutai.

There was someone standing directly behind him.

Throwing himself backwards, Cloud shifted around, groping ineffectually for his absent sword. "Holy…! Who're…? What're…? Where…?" He sifted wildly through his Expressions of Extreme Alarm to find one suitable for the occasion. The figure continued to watch him, with an air of expectation.

Having run through the whole list, Cloud took a deep breath and stepped back. He finally settled for "Who the hell are you?"

It is an interesting fact that important and seemingly obvious questions, such as, "Who was my father?" and "What did you do during that war you always make indirect references to but refuse to talk about?" and "What's your secret recipe for making spaghetti sauce?" always seem to be asked at a very convenient time. For example, it is an amazing coincidence that TV ads for Prego or Ragu always occur exactly when a child just happens to ask their parent what recipe they use to make their special sauce.

Many philosophers have spent great amounts of time pondering this question. Some claim that it's simply in the quirky nature of the Universe to always arrange things so that they make a great story. Others believe that its Observer's Prejudice--improbable events are more interesting and are more likely to be noticed and remembered than routine ones.

Others chalk it up to the media. At any rate, the law had just been proven again, for as soon as Cloud asked this question, the figure's head fell off and rolled a little ways into the shadows.

Cloud shrieked (as would anyone) as the cause of this skittered to a halt at his feet; the knife looked long enough to gut a Vlakarados. A group of people emerged from the dark and another man with long dark hair and a suspiciously spectral look to him nodded to them from behind the headless body.

"Excellent, Turks. Now kill the boy."

Cloud didn't need to be warned twice. He threw himself to the floor and rolled out of the room as a knife swished over his head, missing by inches.

"He is rolling out of the room. Use the handgun, Elena."

He got up and managed to dodge the various bullets by noticing that they always seemed to strike at exactly where Tseng was pointing.

"He is too fast. Use the machine gun, Rude."

Cloud cursed to himself and ran, a stream of bullets following behind him. He made it to a door set in the wall and started to open it.

"Use the sixteen ton safe, Reno."

Cloud paused. Sixteen ton safe?

He threw the door open and stepped back. A giant safe hit the ground with a loud _THUD_.

"Excellent work, Reno. You have killed him."

Marveling at the Shinra, Cloud hid behind the corner and listened to the footsteps of the Turks as they moved around and then approached him, sounding as though they were dragging something heavy along.

He heard Reno muttering as well, "Sweet Shiva, like we needed a metal cage, indeed. It fits into this plastic bag easily enough, and we won't look half so suspicious carrying it down the--- wait... holy shit!"

Tearing sounds.

Biting sounds.

Cursing sounds.

Ringing sounds--as if a pot was being slammed onto the floor.

He heard Reno pant out in triumph, "Gotchya! Try biting through THAT, you stupid fuc---"

Hitting sounds.

Elena's voice rang out, surprised and alarmed. "What the...hey, not you too! Guys, behind you! Rude!"

Electric zapping sounds.

Shooting sounds.

Punching sounds.

Grunting.

Reno again. "Damn, man... Good thing you brought along plenty of rope, Rude. 'Lena, see if you can channel Tseng and tell him we got the target."

Their footsteps slowly faded away down the hall, although he could still hear a faint thrashing and crinkling noise. As soon as he thought the coast was clear, he tentatively sidled out into the hall again, ignoring the canon rule that you _never_ return to the place where the violent action has taken place. Then again, he was secure in his status as a Main Hero and knew that he couldn't be killed off or maimed until later on; besides, anything was better than huddling like a scared chicobo in the corner.

He was in such a hurry, he failed to look ahead of him and consequently went sprawling when he tripped on something large, soft, and moving. 

"Ow! Dammit!"

Rubbing his posterior, Cloud promptly sat down again when he realized he had just tripped over a tied-up headless body that was surrounded by the shreds of a plastic bag. The same figure he had presumably been talking to. And which was still moving, despite the obvious incapacitation of missing its head.

Unlike the Final Fantasy Eight progeny who would follow him, Cloud was not as given to having internal conversations and debates with himself in order to settle his typical problems and angst. However, as previously stated, motivation only depends on the situation and Cloud had a stunningly good go at mental self-arguing which ended up in his decision that passing out would be the best course of action.

When he woke up a short time later, he had another try at telling himself that he didn't know the slightest about who he was, where he was, and what he had tripped over but was unable to thoroughly convince himself. He then pretended that he was dead but this illusion was spoiled by the fact someone was graciously helping him to his feet.

Ill-temperedly clinging to his rescuer's arm, Cloud steeled himself to come to terms with his situation and to not sound incredibly surly when he thanked whoever was helping him out of blissful unconsciousness. "Well, I _suppos_e it was nice of you to---Aughh!" 

Cloud screamed again and pulled away, since the arm he had been holding belonged to the same body he had seen decapitated and tied up. A second glance showed that the strands of rope and bits of plastic were still clinging to the figure, obscuring his view of who the person was, even if he could have told it without the head. 

The little reminder of the fact that there was no head spurred his processes. He decided a third glance was out of the question and started to take off running. 

But before he could bolt after the Turks, who, even if they were trying to kill him, were a normal and familiar part of his life (even the killing part) as opposed to his sudden rash of impromptu introductions, was seized by the wrist.

The body gestured broadly towards the hallway and did some pantomime, only mildly hindered by the rope and the fact it had no facial expressions to utilize.

"You… you want me to follow you?"

The body tugged again and pointed. Cloud, despite his instincts, followed because he was a believer in that it was never good to deny a decapitated body what it was asking for. Up the hall, take a left, down the hall, take two rights...finally, they stopped before a door.

"Are we there yet?"

The body turned and faced him.

"So are we?"

It stood for a few minutes. After that, it took a black pen out of its pocket and wrote on its arms, "Sorry. I spent the last few minutes trying to nod at you. Yes, we are here."

Cloud swallowed hard and pushed the door open…

TBC…


	3. The 2nd Chapter 2: Mad Scientist Maunder...

Warnings: AU and absolutely no explanations as to why the storyline's so screwed up 

Warnings: AU and absolutely no explanations as to why the storyline's so screwed up. No real plot. OOC actions taking place right, left, and center. Yaoi. Wonky science explanations and gratuitous door abuse. And I tend to make Wutai into a sort of combo of both Japan and China, according to personal whim and necessary plot device. Sorry.

Square owns the characters and most likely a good chunk of the world. 

Notes: Catt, this was entirely, undeniably, and completely _your_ fault. This one's for you.

***

Quick recap:

Cloud can see odd things.

Vincent is strange.

Hojo is sadistic.

Sephiroth takes a shower and irritates Zack

Zack fixes a ceiling fan.

A drag show happens.

Cloud is abducted.

The Turks cut off someone's head and put it in a pot.

***

"He was right HERE." Zack paced over the stage for the thousandth time. "And then---wham! Lights go out, people start screaming, Cloud's gone."

Sephiroth rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. "Yes, we've established that fact." He frowned. "But we don't know how it was done, who did it, why they did it, or where Cloud's gone."

"True," said Zack, as he jumped down from the stage. "Tifa? You got an idea?"

The brunette looked up from where she was sweeping up the night's broken beer bottles and scraps of leopard-print velveteen. "Huh?"

"On where Cloud might be. He's gone; didn't you know?" Zack asked, raising his eyebrows.

Tifa shrugged and poked the handle of the broom gingerly at something lime-green, stuck between the floorboards. "After the lights came back on and Heidigger tried to storm the door with Palmer screaming him on? There could've been another WEAPON and I wouldn't have had the time to notice."

She managed to fish the thong out from the floorboards and carried it on the broom handle to the garbage can. After throwing in some gasoline, lighting a match, and dropping it in, she leaned thoughtfully against the edge of the bar. 

"Umm… let me think. Well, the last time he disappeared for a long time, he was in a test tube at Hojo's lab. Then, he fell into the church roof when the reactor blew up… And he showed up in Mideel after getting dropped in the Lifestream…" She trailed off, deep in thought.

After a few moments of deep, thoughtful silence, Sephiroth tapped his foot impatiently. "Well…?"

Tifa straightened and started sweeping again. "Check behind the fridge. Everything turns up there, eventually. Now go away, I'm busy." 

After a few disbelieving seconds, Sephiroth stalked out disdainfully as only a villain possessing perfect hair, an outfit capable of swirling dramatically, and high leather boots can stalk. Kicking away a tangle of coconut-brassieres, he paused at the door for full maximum effect and glared at Zack, pointedly ignoring Tifa. "And you said I _shouldn't_ try to wipe out all life on this chunk of rock?"

Getting his closing shot in, he walked out, satisfied.

Zack followed him after a brief pause. "Sorry. Gotta go keep him from blowing something up…Let us know if you get any clues on Cloud, 'kay?"

The door slammed.

As soon as the sound echoed through the bar, Tifa dropped the broom and sighed, stretching. "FINE-ally. I thought they'd never leave…"

Kicking the cleaning equipment carelessly aside, she flipped the bar's sign to "CLOSED" and lowered the shades. A little furtively, she walked over to the pinball machine, absently avoiding piles of discarded XXL corsets. A lever here, a button there and--- ah, perfect, it started to descend to the hidden AVALANCHE room. 

She stepped off the platform and sent it back up. Flopping down in the armchair that was situated directly in front of the television, she hunted for the remote with one hand and a slightly squashed packet of Pocky with the other.

After sifting through the tapes scattered on the ground and popping in the right one, she settled back and turned the television on. Pressing "PLAY" on the remote, the tape clicked on and the room was filled with music. "Kimi wa seijitsu na moralist… kirei na yubi de boku o nazoru. Boku wa junsui na terrorist… kimi no omou ga mama ni kakumei ga okiru…"

Onscreen, a young man in a red dress began to undulate suggestively. Tifa settled herself more comfortably and indulged in a self-satisfied smile. Barret had complained about the cost of full-coverage surveillance cameras but she had thought it had more than repaid itself…

***

Walking back to their home, Sephiroth and Zack were arguing. 

"Dammit, Seph, you know we need to go find him. So why can't it be me for once?"

"Because one of us needs to stay back here in case he's returned or we're contacted or he comes back, that's why." Sephiroth paused at the front door of the apartment and continued with, "Besides, there's a better reason for you to stay."

Zack cocked his head to one side and pushed open the door. "And what's that?" 

"I outrank you."

"…you promised not to pull rank anymore!"

Sephiroth frowned. "I did? Why would I do that?"

"Well, you were kinda drunk at the time," Zack replied, looking slightly sheepish. He hardened his expression. "But you also promised you wouldn't kill anyone unless absolutely necessary and you broke that one, too."

Sephiroth looked offended. "I did not."

"Repeatedly, I might add."

"Name me _one_. Go on, try."

Zack started to tick off names on his fingers. "The late pizza delivery man, the guy who sold you defective sword polish, the one you mistook for Hojo---"

"Circumstantial evidence only."

"---The Jenova's Witness religious door-to-door visitors, the used-chocobo salesman, the girl you mistook for Aeris---"

"You're imagining things."

"---The Midgar Girl Guide Troop who told you they were out of Thin Mints---"

"…They were Shinra employees in disguise."

"---The guy who tried to grope Cloud backstage at the bar last week---"

"…bastard got what was coming to him."

Zack crossed his arms. "And that was all just last WEEK…"

The silver-haired man started to arm himself, mumbling as he did. "…Damn Ultima materia, I saw it just a second ago… always at the end of the inventory when you need it…" Finally, Sephiroth looked up, set his jaw and looked stubborn. "If you made me promise while intoxicated, then it doesn't count. And those were all justifiable homicides."

"Right." Zack scowled at him. "And the stain on our doorstep from half of these 'justifiable homicides' not only won't go away but it's drawing flies. The doormat doesn't hide it anymore."

Sifting through their leveled materia stash, Sephiroth gave up trying to equip himself and simply tilted the entire collection into his pocket. "Yes, yes, whatever you say. But you know, there's something you could do that would probably help more…"

Momentarily distracted by the fact that if Sephiroth wore near-to-skin-tight leather pants, there was something very odd about the fact he could fit their entire collection into one invisible pocket without unsightly bulges, Zack looked skeptical and asked "Oh yeah? And what's that, Oh Wise One?"

Sephiroth pulled his masamune off the wall. "Gather up some forces. We might need to invade whoever's done this."

The dark-haired man gaped. "And where the hell am I supposed to gather up an army from?! We're not exactly in Shinra any more, you know!" Zack sputtered.

Sephiroth waved negligently as he started to walk away. "Call my hotline. They'll help you with whatever you need."

He left.

Zack walked inside the apartment and suddenly stopped short as the realization hit him---

"Hey…if he's not technically leading SOLDIER any more, then the rank doesn't count anyway…! You…!" 

He paused, torn between following Sephiroth and shouting that at him or doing whatever would probably help Cloud.

Finally, he heaved a sigh and closed the apartment door. Muttering, he walked over to retrieve the PHS from where it was buried between the sofa cushions. "'Call my hotline', he says. While Cloud may be in mortal danger and he gets to go out and have all the fun. Do I ever get to go out on the adventures? Nooo, why should that happen? I just get my ass SHOT off or left behind. Great, just great..." He poked at the buttons hard enough to hurt his fingers.

Zack frowned. "1-800… D, that'll be a 3… and then it's—E? I? Dammit, can never remember… Right, 'I before E except after C." But that doesn't look right, maybe I should write them both down and compare the two… Okay, got it. Another 3 for E, 4 for I, 8 for T and finally… 9 for Y."

*Dial tone*

"C'mon, c'mon…"

*Bzzz*

*Whir*

*Click*

"Greetings! You have reached the voice mail of the Clone Collective! 

To speak to clones 1-99, please push 1 now. 

To speak to clones 100-199, please push 2 now. 

To speak to clones 200-299, please push 3 now. 

To speak to clones 300-399, please push 4 now. 

To speak to clones 400-499, please push 5 now. 

To speak to clones 500-599, please push 6 now. 

To speak to clones 600-699, please push 7 now. 

To speak to clones 700-799, please push 8 now.

To speak to clones 800-899, please push 9 now.

If you are tired of this message and would like to speak to the entire group collectively, please smash the # key n---"

*smash* 

*beep*

"Greetings. Who is calling?"

From the other end of the phone, Zack sighed. "You know, it was a lot easier to keep up with you guys when there were only a dozen or so of you."

"We imagine so. Who is calling?"

"I'm one of Sephiroth's friends. He gave me the number."

"Indeed, a most excellent credential. Is there a way we can help you?"

Zack smiled, slowly and viciously. "Do you know," he said, "I think there is…"

***

Cloud opened the door and tried to take in what he was seeing. The room was filled with an impressive display of electronic equipment. Around him the walls were filled with flashing lights, gauges, switches and buttons. Bubbling philters and test-tubes of glowing liquid were scattered everywhere and a lone mako-pod was leaning against the wall in a metal nest of wires and tubes.

Even stranger, though, were the two other people in the room. One spent its time standing smugly next to the other, who was floating above the ground in the lotus position.

The body pointed at the floating figure.

Cloud walked up to them. "Who are you?" he asked.

A voice emanated from the walls, "Welcome to the laboratory of Dr. Hojo. How may I assist you?"

Cloud was confused. "Which of these two is Dr. Hojo?"

"Two? There are three people in the room... err, make that two and a half..." The body grunted, or as much as a body which possesses no vocal cords can grunt. "...two and five sixths then. Yourself, the body, and Dr. Hojo."

"But which one is Dr. Hojo? The standing guy or the floating guy?"

"Error! There are no standing men in this room besides you and the body. Dr. Hojo is floating in the air."

Cloud still was a little puzzled as to why the computer didn't acknowledge the existence of the man standing next to this so-called Hojo... who, come to think of it, was beginning to look strangely familiar. Damn memory blips. 

But, anyway. "So, may I speak to him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He is busy meditating."

"…Oh."

"Dr. Hojo is afraid that his thoughts are trying to take over his mind. He is now trying to clear his head completely so that he may be completely free and under his own control."

Cloud thought about this for a minute. Then, everything fell into place.

"Computer, Dr. Hojo is failing miserably. Instead of freeing himself from his thoughts, he is actually enslaving himself to paranoia, who, in case you care, happens to be standing next to him right now."

Silence. Paranoia winked at Cloud.

The computer responded, "ERROR. Unresolvable paradox. Waking up Dr. Hojo..."

Oops, thought Cloud, I might not have wanted to point that out...

***

"We have acquired another one of our ranks."

"Number?"

"Eight." Pause. "Personally, I do not see him as very useful."

"It doesn't matter."

"…Sir, he wears sweater-vests. He keeps whimpering and claiming he needs to get his wife, Edea's, permission to be here."

"And it is of no consequence, I tell you. He is one of us and that is all that counts. Who's left?"

"Let me consult the list…" Rustling. "Numbers six and seven. We've, umm… We've had to fly in a supply of fish for the consumption of number six. Apparently he can't get along without it."

"…I see. Carry on."

***

With his innate knowledge of tracking, his single-mindedness, a good set of common sense, and a plastic compass he received by mailing in five boxtops and 25 gil, Sephiroth was coming closer and closer to tracking down the erstwhile spiky blonde. Despite some rather irritating sidetracks, he was finally to the point where he thought he was getting somewhere. The trail ran cold just outside a certain door, which Sephiroth recognized from having spent about sixty percent of his adolescence there. 

As the universe predicts, an event occurred that led to a great coincidence in timing, as Cloud had already experienced. The PHS rang.

"Seph?"

"Zack?"

"Look, I don't care what's going on at this point, I'm worried. I'm coming out to help you find Cloud."

"But---"

"Oh, and erh, Sephiroth, we kinda have a problem."

Sephiroth stared at the PHS and wondered if it was ethical to hang up. "What?" 

"I don't think your collective gets out very much, because when I went back to check on them, they had just finished devouring all the food in the fridge, listening to the CD's and putting them back in the wrong order---"

"…what are you doing with my collective of clones in the first place?"

"---raiding the DVD collection---." 

"Answer me, Zack."

"---trying on your clothing---"

"ZACK."

"Amongst other things," Zack finished. "And I haven't gotten to the worst yet."

Sephiroth felt a headache coming on. "That wasn't the bad news?"

"Nah, that wasn't the part that I thought would bug you. They've gotten wired to the point where they melted down the armor and sword collection you keep and ended up using the molten remnants to make a crude statue of you that they are now dancing around and chanting to."

"…"

"Tell me about it. I dunno why you keep them around; they're not even good artisans. You should see the way they botched your hair in the statue."

He sighed. "Zack..."

"Yes?"

"You made your point. Bring the army and come join me. I've found the enemy, anyway."

Zack sounded maniacally cheerful. "I always do. So, where are you?" 

"Hojo's lab, in the Shinra building. Don't forget you take a left out of our apartment onto the street and go towards the---" he suddenly dropped the PHS in shock.

A familiar shriek ran out from inside the lab and another voice followed it. "Wait! Come back! Specimen B, Strife, Cloud, whatever you want to be called! Get back over here, I'm not done yet!"

His rage reached the breaking point. HIS Cloud--- the one who HE had gone to the trouble of mind-controlling, seducing, and grooming for service was being chased around and possibly tormented by this sad excuse for a mad scientist. Wishing he had brought Zack sooner, if only for the fact the two of them would have had twice as much fun trouncing Hojo together, he leapt into action in the true literal sense.

His foot connected with the door with an overly flashy SOLDIER martial art move and ripped it off its hinges. As he completed the revolution, ending in a stance that would not only launch him into the hallway but also show off his swirling hair and black leather and slashing sword to their best advantage, he heard an unexpected "Ouch!" followed by a baffling "Aiiiiieeeeee!" 

Misplacing his anger in astonishment, Sephiroth instinctively stepped to one side. An instant later, the door came flying out back _into _the hallway, closely followed by the also-flying form of Hojo, still clutching a hypodermic.

The door hit the wall.

The scientist hit the door.

The scientist fell on the floor.

The door fell on the scientist.

As close to gaping as he ever came, he stepped over to investigate the mess more closely. After a few moments of studying the wreckage and its approximate positions, he finally came up with a hypothesis: Hojo had been standing in front of the door when he'd kicked it in and been hit. Hence the cry of 'ouch!'.

But that shouldn't have brought Hojo out into the hallway; an extreme opposite force would have to have occurred. What kicked them both outside into the hallway and had alarmed him enough to scream? 

He contented his pique at losing the chance to show off his ending pose by calmly using Hojo's face as a doormat before stepping into the lab, only to see… no one at all.

***

(Ten minutes before the door crushed Hojo)

A bell rang as the signal changed to WALK.

They crossed the street, fighting through a crowd of people. Cloud blinked, trying to figure out how he'd gotten from waking up Hojo to going to a scene so blatantly ripped off "The Matrix" that he expected the Crossover Gestapo to come bursting in any moment now.

"Look around you, Cloud. What do you see? Lawyers, businessmen, doctors, zookeepers. Everyday people living their lives in the belief that they are in control of their lives."

Hojo looked at Cloud. "These people are being manipulated by their ideas. Ideas are living organisms that treat individual people like your body treats its cells--necessary, but expendable. The sad thing is that many of these people are so hopelessly dependent on their ideas that they'll do anything to advance them."

Cloud was distracted by a tall, silver-haired man walking past him, giving him a salacious wink as he went by. He's kind of good-looking, he thought to himself.

"Cloud, are you listening to me?"

He snapped out of it and looked back at him.

"Or were you looking at the tall silver-haired man?"

"I was..."

"Look again."

He turned around and saw the most evil thing he'd ever seen in his life. Worse than the time he'd accidentally broken Zack's hand-built model Wing Zero. Worse than the time Sephiroth discovered that Zack and Cloud had accidentally shrunk his favorite leather coat to the point where it would only fit a plushie. Worse than Zack and Sephiroth's gleeful discovery of the fact that they could pose all the male Final Fantasy Seven action-figures into suggestive stances and positions that rivaled the Kama Sutra.

His hair had turned a dull brown. He had a twistedly horrendous expression. His head was bowed down slightly, magnifying the fearsome frightfulness of his feral features. His hands were an inch under his face, fingers steepled against each other. He was grinning... evilly...

And he was brandishing an enormous sword, which definitely made an impression on Cloud.

Right before it looked like it was about to carry out some sort of Very Bad Thing, Dr. Hojo called out, "Computer, freeze program!"

The man froze.

Cloud walked around him. "What is it?"

Dr. Hojo smiled. "This is Cid," he said. "A sentient thought with the goal of taking over the world."

"I thought you said that all ideas want to take over the world."

"Yes, but Cid is different. Computer, end program."

The street vanished to reveal a black room and an open door. The two of them walked through the door back into the main lab.

"Sentience has three defining characteristics," Dr. Hojo continued, "In order to be sentient, a being must be intelligent, self-aware, and conscious. Cid was given all of these characteristics by a colleague of mine whom I had trusted, Dr.---well, er, Cid."

Cloud blinked. "Could you start at the beginning here?"

Dr. Hojo sighed. "Very well. I have long understood that a constant of the human race has been its susceptibility to being controlled by ideas of its own creation. Once a mind accepts an idea as being valid, it immediately enslaves itself to that idea. The degree to which it clings to its idea is the degree to which it is willing to sacrifice itself for its idea. War is a perfect example of enslaved minds fighting for their ideas.

"I, however, took this a step further. Since a single idea can control many human beings, I, along with my coworker, Dr. Cid, created a system that allowed us to actually view these ideas. We could now interact with them as if they were living people.

"Now the words 'as if' are very key to understanding what has happened, for these ideas were never actually people. Most are unable to gain sentience for one important reason--they were not conscious of what they were. Ideas lack self-awareness. They believe that they exist to get something accomplished, when, in fact, like every other living organism, their only true goal is to continue existing. This can be seen throughout all of history. The most powerful ideas are those which exist independent of achievable ends. Take the Church, for example. The Church has existed for thousands of years and will undoubtedly continue for another thousand for the simple reason that the idea of the Church transcends its members. No individual member of the Church is essential to the Church's existence. It is one of the ideas that has come closest to becoming sentient for the simple reason that it comes very close to knowing what it truly is."

Hojo paused, then continued. "In addition to being able to view ideas, we also were able to control them somewhat. We could, to a limited degree, create, manipulate, and destroy the ideas in the world. The death of BETA and the consequent rise of VHS was a direct result of our handiwork. Unfortunately, my associate became seduced by the infinite power our technology offered. He decided that he wanted his name to be immortalized, so he took Cid--a simple name--and gave it sentience. Technically, I suppose you could call him Cid Prime. Cid is fully aware of what he is and what he is trying to do: name everybody Cid. I don't know what happened to the original Dr. Cid after his project was completed. He disappeared and hasn't been seen since.

"Creating and strengthening ideas is very easy. There are plenty of fools in this world who are willing to enslave themselves to foolish ideas. Unfortunately, these ideas then hold them with an iron grip, and it is very difficult to weaken them. In order to defeat them, you have to get past their 'immune systems'--the knee-jerk reflexes and biases that taint the way that their slaves see the world.

"Specimen B, you are our only hope. Only you can get past these 'immune systems'."

Cloud shrieked. He noted, right after he shrieked, that the headless body was back and looking very put-upon and long-suffering. This being reason enough to make some more noise, he opened his mouth to let loose again.

"Please don't shriek like that, Specimen B. Hear me out!" Hojo darted in front of Cloud and clung to his arm. Cloud, unwilling to completely touch Hojo, shook him off and retreated to the other side of an operating table. Hojo continued. "Jenova, here---" and he pointed to the patient headless body, still partially enmeshed in rope---"is one of my top aides in thwarting Cid." 

__

I will not scream, I will not lose control, I took my pills this morning, everything should be okay, why oh god why didn't I take the blue pill…. Cloud blinked and cautiously tried to get a grip on reality. "Okay. We'll start simple. Why did somebody---namely, the Turks--- want to steal Jenova's _head_?"

Dr. Hojo's jaw dropped in shock. "Somebody stole her head?" he asked nervously.

__

I will not lose it, no, nope, nu-uh, no way… With another deep breath, Cloud looked at him quizzically and raised one eyebrow, one of the abilities he was most secretly proud of. It made him feel a little better in the surrounding surrealness of the situation. "Um, yeah... the Turks kinda cut it off… didn't you notice that it was missing?"

"Well... I thought you'd just left it at home or something," said Hojo, rubbing his hands together in a distressed way.

Cloud lowered his eyebrow so he could raise the other one. A little bit better but still too far from being comfortable. "Why would I want to do that?" he asked cautiously.

"Personal convenience, perhaps? That's not important. We have to find it before it falls into Cid's evil clutches."

__

Under control, under control…"I don't see why the Turks would work for this Cid… then again, the Turks _have_ been known go free-lance on these sort of things, but---oh hell, never mind. Why? What's so special about it?"

"That head is the most powerful energy source in the world! How else would it have survived so long after Sephiroth pulled it off the first time? If Cid Prime gains hold of it, he will be able to tap into its advanced manipulative facilities and take over the world. Once he does that he will, he will..." Dr. Hojo shuddered.

"Spit it out."

"He will gather his similarly named game-compatriots and name everybody Cid!"

Cloud paused and contemplated this thought.

He then broke out laughing giddily.

"Holy, honestly!" he exclaimed. "Here you are talking about this as if it were a matter of life and death! I thought he was going to slam down an astrological object of mass destruction or something…"

Hojo scowled. "Well... do _you_ want to be named Cid?"

"No..."

"Do you want to see video games where EVERY main character's name is Cid? Or Sid? He's been sneaky; he's insinuated himself in each FF series so far and no one seems to understand how important it is!"

Cloud scratched his head. "Eff eff? What's that?" But, not really sure he would like this explanation any better than the ones he had already been receiving from Hojo, he continued and tried to humor the man. "Erh... I guess I see your point. I'd rather not, but... is it really such a big deal?"

"Of course! How would we tell each other apart?"

"Well... there are always last names, middle names, suffixes, nicknames..." _Weirdo._

"I can hear your thoughts when you're in this lab, you know."

__

Aw man, now he'll know about Sephiroth and Zack and the time with the chocolate sauce and… stopitstoptistopit!

"I knew that, too. And puh-lease. Having a last name doesn't do all that much for you. Look at myself. And I mean other than all that!"

Cloud thought about this some more. "Um... I guess none, in the verbal sense."

"Exactly! It will be a repeat of Wutai's tragic Cultural Revolution, where everybody had to wear the same clothes. In any case, even if you are indifferent" (and Hojo said this last word with thinly veiled disapproval bordering on disgust) "to the tragedy facing our fragile planet, I'd like to think that you at least hold Jenova's welfare in some degree of importance."

"I don't. I don't even know why you want ME to help," Cloud replied firmly, trying his best not to think of anything embarrassing, personal, important, or indeed, anything at all.

"Well, firstly you're the one who saved the world. That's a fairly strong credential. Secondly, haven't you noticed something? You've always been able to see things other people can't. All those times you thought you were dreaming when you spoke to your younger selves and to that Cetra girl in the forest and even to my own son... You can see IDEAS, boy. You are---" and here Hojo paused to give extra weight to the words---"The One." 

Obviously enjoying the way he could make mere non-proper words into capitalized ones, Hojo said it again. "You are… The One. And _I_ was the one who figured it out, heh."

Sighing, Cloud shrugged. "You're not listening to me, are you? I don't want to do this. Which way's the exit?"

Hojo suddenly went threatening. "I'm afraid I can't allow that, Specimen B. You see, I need to obtain some samples from you and you really have no choice about helping or not..." He held up a large hypodermic and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. "Please bend over and grab your ankles."

Cloud's mind raced. _I can shriek, run, shriek-and-run, pass out, throw a table at him..._

His mouth and foot made the decision within 3.7 seconds of one another. The mouth went first--- "Aughh!!!"

The door flew inward.

Cloud's foot, powered by an intense surge of RPG-main-hero-adrenaline, went outward, knocking Hojo into the oncoming door and sending them both back out towards the hallway. Taking no time to see what or who had caused the door to break, he went out the back.

***

The 250th Bob Convention was going extremely well. This year the unusual event had managed to attract millions of Bobs from around the planet. There was much food, games, and laughter to be had by people who shared a very simple and yet very deep part of their lives.

At the moment most Bobs were gathering for one of the main speakers, the famous Wutaiian priest Shishka Bob.

Little did they suspect the cruel fate that had been determined for them.

While Shishka Bob was in the middle of his speech on the tenets of Bob-ism, all of the lights in the convention center went off. Screams of panic could be heard throughout the crowd as people leapt to their feet and knocked over their chairs in mass confusion.

The public broadcasting system was still engaged though, and Shishka Bob's voice was replaced by another.

"Greetings, Cid."

Outrage from the crowd.

"Oh... you did not realize that your names were Cid? You thought they were Bob? Well, do not worry. You will learn."

By the end of the speech, the convention was officially renamed the 250th Cid Convention.

And nobody gave it a second thought.

***

End Notes: Two plot devices and jokes have been shamelessly swiped from the most excellent Sith Academy, run by Siubhan. Thank you.


End file.
